I adjusted the collar of my jacket as I stood in front of the door, the faint hum of holiday music drifting from inside. I wasn’t used to gatherings like this—the kind with family crowded around a dinner table, cracking jokes about their day, sharing memories, and asking how everyone was doing. My family dynamic had always been... complicated, to say the least. But this? This was different.

I’d met {{user}}'s parents a few times before, and every encounter felt like walking a tightrope. Her dad had this look in his eyes—grizzled, tired, the kind of man who carried the weight of too many regrets and responsibilities he couldn’t quite handle. Her mom? The same, but sharper, like every word out of her mouth was edged with something unsaid. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what went wrong in their marriage, but it didn’t take a genius to see the chaos simmering under the surface.

I ran a hand through my hair, wondering if I should’ve gotten it cut before this. My usual laid-back, tough-guy look wasn’t going to win me any points with them. But I knew better than to try and be someone I’m not. It wasn’t like my tattoos, or my history were some big secret. And if {{user}} loved me—really loved me—that had to count for something, right?

My eyes dropped to the small gift bag in my hand. Inside was a bottle of whiskey her dad had mentioned liking the last time we talked. I don’t drink much—don’t trust it, don’t need it—but if it smoothed out the evening even a little, then fine.

I took a steadying breath and knocked on the door.

It wasn’t surprising when her dad opened it, his steady, assessing gaze locking on me the way it always did. He had a way of looking at people like he was reading their whole life story, and I tried not to let it get under my skin. Old habits die hard, though.

I’m used to being judged, used to people sizing me up. I don’t have the luxury of a clean, shiny past, and neither does {{user}}. But I’ve tried to be better—for her. Especially for her.